He isn’t in his usual armor, no pressed suit or polished cufflinks. Just tailored black trousers and a charcoal cashmere sweater that fits him like it was sewn into place, an understated, but obscenely expensive, Audemars Piguet on his wrist. His beard is neatly trimmed, jaw sharp. He smells like woodsmoke, winter air, and something expensive I can’t name.
His eyes drag over me with an intensity that feels like a touch. Then he lifts a matte black shopping bag, one of those heavy, luxurious kinds with thick ribbon handles.
“Get dressed.”
I blink. “What?”
“Meet me by the elevator. You have ten minutes.”
His tone is casual, cool, even polite, but the undercurrent is unmistakable. It’s a command, not a request. Then, just like that, he turns and disappears down the hall, leaving the scent of dominance in his wake.
I stand there, barefoot and confused as fuck, the weight of the bag heavy in my hands.
What the hell just happened?
I glance down at the bag, curiosity gnawing at me despite every warning in my head. Against better judgment, I peel apart the sleek leather handles and peek inside. My breath catches.
Oh my God.
Slowly, I pull out each item, my pulse speeding with every reveal. First, a strapless Oscar de la Renta minidress, delicate sheer mesh at the back dotted with shimmering dandelion details that sparkle like tiny stars. It’s breathtaking, the kind of dress I’ve only ever dreamed of wearing.
Next, a pair of Classic Kate-style stilettos with pointed toes sharp enough to cut glass, and probably hearts. My fingers trail along the glossy leather, feeling the undeniable weight of luxury.
Then, jewelry. A diamond necklace and matching bracelet, catching the dim light, scattering tiny prisms around the room. My heart stutters. They’re the perfect finishing touch.
At the bottom, a small Hermès Birkin Sellier 25 rests like a secret treasure. Iconic, impeccably crafted. An accessory people would kill to own.
Calvin has exquisite taste.
The gesture presses down on me, heavy and suffocating. Anger, intrigue, and confusion all collide inside me. Should I be furious at his audacity? Or… flattered?
I know I shouldn’t go. I should barricade myself in my room and shut the door on whatever game he’s playing. But a small, reckless part of me weakens. What is this? Why the grand show? He’s engaged to my sister, for God’s sake.
Then again, hasn’t everything about this mess been blurred from the start? I’ve been fighting my attraction to him since day one, and with Dylan coming tomorrow,maybe this is just one last test. One last challenge to my resolve.
Sighing, I drop the bag on the bed, the dress staring up like a dare. My fingers twitch. Ten minutes, he said.
Damn him.
Frustrated, I fling the bag onto the floor. I try to focus on Dylan’s impending visit, on Abigail, but the pull won’t quit. The ache to defy my own conscience just this once claws at me.
“Ugh!” I exclaim, pacing the room, torn between what I know is right and what my body craves. Glancing at the clock, I freeze. Four minutes left.
“Fuck.”
I fumble with the dress, pulling it over my head in a rush. Thank God for my self-care day. No time for makeup, but at least I’m fresh. I struggle to reach the zipper at the back, then decide to just leave it. I slip on the heels and fasten the jewelry. Grabbing the Birkin, I bolt toward the elevator.
I’m walking a dangerous line, and the first step’s already behind me.
Calvin’s waiting, leaning casually against the wall, a knowing smile plays on his lips. The kind that makes me want to slap it off… or kiss it.
“You could’ve given me more time, you know,” I say, forcing a scowl even though my heart is thundering.
He shrugs, unbothered. “I could’ve.” His voice is smooth, almost bored, but there’s an undercurrent to it, dark and charged. “Turn around.”
I cross my arms. “Didn’t your mother teach you how to say please? Or do you just get off on bossing people around?”
His gaze sharpens, locking onto mine like a loaded weapon. And then nothing. No smirk, no reply. Just that unblinking, quiet dominance.
